The Most Valuable Thing
by Twelve Black Kittens
Summary: The flows of time never stops, even for those who are sent back through it. Eventual HPLV


**A/N:** Geez, I've nervous about this fic. But anyway, here it is, and it's HP/LV slash (eventually). Don't like that don't read it.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, never gone be mine and you should be thankful for that.

The Most Valuable Thing

Chapter 1 – The Riddle House

It was Frank's bad leg that woke him; it was paining him worse that ever in his old age. He got up and limped downstairs into the kitchen, with the idea of re-filling his hot-water bottle to ease the stiffness in his knee. Standing at the sink, filling the kettle, he looked out of the window and surveyed the Riddle House's grounds. Even through the gloom he could see that the weeds were horrendously overgrown – perhaps he should think about getting some of those newfangled chemical weed killers, but he was sure they'd kill the grass which was about the only thing he'd managed to keep a half-decent condition.

Slowly Frank's eyes left the flowerbeds and the lawn, and he began looking up at the old house. It looked the same as always nothing – Frank froze. Up by the ivy-covered wall he could see movement, a shadowy figure creeping around the house. The figure paused at the back-door for a moment, and then opened the door, walking through and closing it behind his or herself.

Anger welled up inside Frank. All these years kids had been causing damage to the property, or pulling practical jokes on him, and now they'd actually gone so far as to break into the house? That was the final straw. He put down the kettle at once, hurried back upstairs as fast as his bad leg would allow, and was soon back in his kitchen, fully dressed and ready to show those young whipper-snappers what-for – there was no way he'd trust the police with a break-in, or anything else for that matter. Just before he left glanced out of the kitchen window once more and scowled. He saw lights glimmering in the house's upper windows. Frank knew instantly what that figure had done. He'd started a fire, judging from the flickering quality of the light. He picked up his walking stick, which was propped against the wall, and set off into the night.

Frank limped up the lawn as quickly as his old body could go until he reached the back-door. It was almost completely covered in ivy, and showed no signs that anyone had been near it in recent years save for the far than it stood ajar. How had that stranger opened it without causing any damage? Frank knew that the door had been locked – he used to check the doors a couple of times every year to make sure, back before his gammy leg started to pain him worse than ever. Shaking his head and putting his thoughts on why the door was ajar to the back of his mind, Frank pushed it open noiselessly and stepped inside.

He had let himself into the cavernous kitchen. Frank had not entered it for many years; nevertheless, although it was very dark he, remembered here the door into the hall was, and groped his way towards it, his nostrils full of the smell of decay, ears pricked for the sound of any footsteps or voices from overhead. He reached the hall, which was a little lighter owing to the large multitude of windows either side of the front door which hadn't yet been boarded up, and started to climb the stairs, blessing the dust which lay thick upon the stone, because it muffled the sound of is feet and stick, but scowling as he noticed a set of footprints only a few minutes old in the dust.

On the landing, Frank turned right, and saw at once where the intruders were: at the very end of the passage a door stood, open only as much as the back door had been, and a flickering light shone through the gap, casting a long sliver of gold across the black floor. Frank edged closer and closer, grasping his walking stick firmly. Several feet from the entrance, he was able to see a narrow slice of the room beyond.

The fire had been lit in the grate, he now saw. This surprised him. He stopped moving and listened intently, for a man's voice spoke within the room; it sounded timid and fearful.

"There is more in the bottle, my Lord, if you are still hungry."

"Later," said a second voice. This, too, belonged to a man – but it was strangely high-pitched, and as cold as a sudden blast of icy wind. Something about that voice made the sparse hairs on the back of Frank's neck stand up, yet inexplicably he felt the need to move closer, to be just a few inches away from the door and to be able to see inside the room.

Doing so, he quickly crushed a gasp. Inside the room, beside the old wing-backed chair, a man who resembled a rat so much Frank half expected him to squeak suddenly and begin gnawing on cheese stood nervously. The chair did not have its back to Frank, but was angled to face the fire so he couldn't see what was inside. Before the chair knelt a man, head bowed in subservience to whatever was within the chair. Frank bit his lip to prevent him to crying out – the man on the floor was the one he'd seen breaking in!

"Tell me, Ada," came the high-pitched second voice. Frank's eyes flicked between the two men he could see for a moment, noticing that they had both flinched, and realising that the voice had come from the chair. "Tell me why it took you _thirteen years_ to seek out your Lord?"

Frank saw the figure on the floor wince and chew on his lip before answering. The rat-like man beside the chair took half a step backwards, obviously not wanting to be near the man in the chair should he become violent.

"Please, Master," the man, Ada, spoke in a low tone that made Frank strain to hear. "You know that-"

"Spare me your simpering about the vow that fool of a headmaster forced upon you," hissed the voice in the chair. "Tell me, Christopher, you have served me faithfully since we were boys, why did you fail me in my time of need?"

"My Lord," Ada looked up cautiously at the chair, and then bowed his head once more. "I deserve every punishment you could possibly give me for abandoning you when you needed your servants the most, but it is the honest truth that the vow prevented me from coming to you. I swear to you, Master, that even though it kept me away this time it will never happen again – within a few short months it will end and I can finally tell you the truth of who I really am."

There was a moment of silence in the room. The moment grew longer, grew into a minute and the two servants glanced at one another, the rat-like man shifting nervously from foot to foot. Finally the voice spoke once again.

"Stand up," it said, harshly. Ada scrambled to obey. "Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail."

Frank watched as Ada stepped out of the way, and as Wormtail moved the chair closer to the fire. As Wormtail moved Frank caught a proper glimpse of him. His first impression was right – the man did resemble a rat. But Wormtail was also short and fat, with a bald patch at the back of his head and wearing a long black cloak.

"Where is Nagini?" said the cold voice.

"I-I don't know, my Lord," said Wormtail nervously. "She set out to explore the house, I think…"

"You will milk her before we retire, Wormtail," the cold voice spoke again. I will need feeding during the night. This _fool's_ arrival has tired me greatly."

Ada flinched at the cold tone.

"My Lord, please forgive m-"

"Lord Voldemort does not forgive!" the cold voice, named Voldemort by the sounds of it, cut Ada off. "You have thirteen years of lost service to make up for, and you will do it."

"Yes Master," murmured Ada, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed in fear.

Brow furrowed, Frank moved closer still to the door, listening very hard. There was a pause, and then the man called Wormtail spoke again.

"My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?"

"A week," said the cold voice. "Perhaps longer. This place in moderately comfortable and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over."

Frank inserted a gnarled finger into his ear and rotated it. Owing, no doubt, to a build-up of earwax, he had heard the word 'Quidditch', which was not a word at all.

"The Quidditch World Cup, my Lord?" said Wormtail. Frank dug his finger still more vigorously into his ear. "Forgive me, but – I do not understand – why should we wait until the World Cup is over?"

"Because, fool, at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for signs of unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So we wait."

Frank stopped trying to clear his ear out. He distinctly heard the world 'Ministry of Magic', 'wizards' and 'Muggles'. Plainly, each of these words meant something secret, and Frank could only think of two sorts of people who would speak in code – spies and criminals. Frank tightened his hold on his walking stick once more, and listened more closely still.

"Your Lordship is still determined, then?" Wormtail said quietly. Ada shot him a dark look, his expression making it clear that he thought that this was both a stupid and ignorant question.

"Certainly I am determined, Wormtail." There was a note of menace in the cold voice now.

A slight pause followed – and then Wormtail spoke, the words tumbling from him in a rush, as though he was forcing himself to say this before he lost his nerve.

"It could be done without Harry Potter, my Lord."

Another pause and Frank could see Ada glancing between the chair and Wormtail, clearly not at ease with the way the conversation was headed.

"Without Harry Potter?" breathed the cold voice softly. "I see…"

"My Lord, I do not say this out of concern for the boy!" said Wormtail, his voice rising squeakily. "The boy in nothing to me, nothing at all! It is merely that if we use another witch or wizard – any wizard – the thing could be done so much more quickly! If you allowed me to leave you for a short while – you know that I can disguise myself most effectively – I could be back here in s little as two days with a suitable person-"

"I could use another wizard," said the cold voice softly, "that is true…"

"My Lord!" exclaimed Ada. Wormtail's eyes shot to him, and somehow Frank knew that that Voldemort bloke's had as well. "Please, Master you _must_ use Harry Potter for this."

"And why is that, Christopher?" hissed the cold voice coldly. "Why must I use Potter's blood? Do you wish for me to remain in this form for longer, so your service to me is limited?"

"No, my Lord!" Ada looked horrified. "I want nothing more than for you to return to your true form, for me to begin repaying my years of servitude to you in every way possible. But I also wish for you to return with the most power running through your veins as is possible. Harry Potter will ensure that happens."

"And I suppose this has nothing to do with your vow?" asked the cold voice, soundly as amused as anyone with as high pitched a voice can sound.

"It is true my vow requires for you to use Potter's blood, Master," Ada bowed his head once again. "But my vow also requires for me to cast a particular spell at Potter that will get him out of your hair forever."

"You will not kill him!" The cold voice hissed.

"Never, My Lord that is your honour alone."

Minutes of silence passed, and with each second Frank could see Wormtail getting more and more nervous, hopping from foot to foot. Finally he spoke.

"Master-"

"Quiet, Wormtail!" The cold voice hissed. "I think I hear Nagini…"

Voldemort's voice changed. He started making noises such as Frank had never heard before; he was hissing and spitting without drawing breath. Frank though he must be having some sort of fit or seizure, but it made no sense that the two servants had not moved to help their Master.

And then Frank heard movement behind him in the dark passageway. He turned to look behind him and found himself paralysed with fright.

Something was slithering towards him along the dark corridor floor, and as it drew nearer to the sliver of firelight, he realised with a thrill of horror that it was a gigantic snake, as least 12 feet long. Horrified, transfixed, Frank stared at it as its undulating body cut a wide curving track through the thick dust on the floor, coming closer and closer – what was he to do? The only means of escape was into the room where three men sat, plotting murder, yet if he stayed where he was the snake would surely kill him –

But before he had made his decision, the snake was level with him, and then, incredibly, miraculously, it was passing by; it was following the spitting, hissing noises made by the cold voice beyond the door, and in seconds, he tip of its diamond-patterned tail had vanished through the gap.

There was sweat on Frank's forehead now, and the hand on the walking stick was trembling. Inside the room, the cold voice of Voldemort was continuing to hiss, and Frank was visited by a strange idea, and impossible idea… _This man could talk to snakes._

Frank didn't understand what was going on. He wanted more than anything to be back in his bed with his hot-water bottle. The problem was that is legs didn't seem to want to move. As he stood there shaking, and trying to master himself, the cold voice switched to English again.

"Nagini has interesting news," he said.

"In-indeed, my Lord?" said Wormtail, sounding fascinated, Ada's expression reflecting Wormtail's tone.

"Indeed, yes," said the voice. "According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say."

Frank didn't have chance to hide himself, to hobble away as fast as his legs could carry him or to push his way into one of the unused rooms. There were footsteps, and then the door of the room was flung wide open.

A short, balding man with greying hair, a pointed nose and small watery eyes stood before Frank, a mixture of fear and alarm on his face. Just behind him stood another man in an identical black cloak, specks of grey in his black hair and grimy looking glasses, slightly taller than the other man, Wormtail, but a lot thinner, almost gaunt in appearance and an expression of indifference on his face, as if he'd expected this – this man must be that Ada character.

"Invite him inside, Wormtail. Where are your manners?"

The cold voice was coming from the ancient chair before the fire as Frank expected, but he still could not see the speaker. The snake, on the other hand, was curled up on the rotting hearth-rub, like some horrible travesty of a pet dog.

Wormtail beckoned Frank into the room. Though till deeply shaken, Frank took a firmer grip upon his walking stick, and limped over the threshold.

The fire was the only source of light in the room; it was casting long, spidery shadows upon the walls. Frank stared at the back of the armchair; the man inside it seemed to be even smaller than his balding servant, for Frank couldn't even see the back of his head.

"You heard everything, Muggle?" said the cold voice.

"What's that you're calling me?" Frank said defiantly, for now he was inside the room, now that the time had come for some form of action, he felt braver; it had always been so in the war.

"I am calling you a Muggle," said the voice coolly. "It means you are not a wizard."

"I don't know what you mean by wizard," said Frank, his voice growing steadier. "All I know is I've heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have. You've done murder and you're planning more! And I'll tell you this, too," he added, on a sudden inspiration, "my wife knows I'm up here and if I don't come back-"

"You have no wife," said the cold voice, very quietly. "Nobody knows you are here. You told nobody that you were coming. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows… he always knows…"

"Is that right?" said Frank roughly. "Lord, is it? Well, I don't think much of your manners, _my Lord_. Turn around and face me like a man."

Behind him, in his peripheral vision, he could just see Wormtail move forwards, something drawn from his pocket, probably a gun, but stopped when Ada placed a hand firmly on his shoulder.

"But I am not a man, Muggle" said the cold voice, barely audible now over the crackling of the flames. "I am much, much more than a man. However… why not? I will face you… Wormtail, Christopher, come turn my chair around."

Wormtail gave a small whimper.

"You heard me, Wormtail," hissed the cold voice as Ada pushed the rat-like servant forwards, causing Wormtail to stumble slightly. Quickly, both servants traversed the small distance between the door and the chair.

Slowly, with Wormtail screwing his face up, as though he would rather have done anything than approach his master and the hearth-rug where the snake lay and Ada eagerly approaching the chair, as though there were no greater pleasure than serving his master, the two of them began to turn the chair. The snake lifted its ugly triangular head and hissed slightly as the legs of the chair snagged on its rug.

And then the chair was facing Frank, and he saw what was sitting in it. His walking stick fell to the floor with a clatter. He opened his mouth and let out a scream. He was screaming so loudly that he never heard the words the thing in the chair spoke as it raised a wand. There was a flash of green light, a rushing sound, and Frank Bryce crumpled. He was dead before he hit the floor.


End file.
